Aware
by soodohnimh
Summary: An alternate season eight.
1. Chapter 1

This is set after the events of episode 7.12. It is an alternate take on Season 8, loosely based on a story suggested by Fiona Wallace Fan on the DD boards. Rated M for swearing and future "adult" content. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Dexter and I am making no money or profit from this story. Feedback is much appreciated.

Chapter One.

The little ceramic policeman mocked her more and more each day.

He stood next to her phone and as each day passed, the hypocritical nature of her current position gnawed at her. With each budget that she looked at and each report that she would sign off on, as he stood there with his gun drawn guarding the public, he reminded her that she was out of place. She was no longer worthy to be a peace-keeper. She did not keep the peace. She was a killer and an accomplice. And her partner in crime was only thirty feet away, holed up in a dark lab pretending to fit into the role he was assigned at the police department, while at the same time, planning his next kill.

She was getting good at sensing when he was not only doing police work, but working cases off the record for his own needs. It was too much. She knew she would never stop him. She would always choose Dexter over what she knew was right and it was killing her. However she didn't have to be a hypocrite too. Hannah, that fucking bitch, was right. She was a hypocrite. But she didn't have to be.

She made it just about a month after she shot down LaGuerta before the weight of her guilt became too much. She would no longer sit at her desk in her glass enclosed office and pretend that she was a productive member of the police force. She couldn't stand to see Dexter everyday at work. She didn't want to hear the seductive tambour of his voice as he sat across from her at her desk, telling her that she was a good person. She had to hide her blush of arousal when he would reach for her hand and cover it with his own, telling her that each day things would be better. She knew that he was only covering for himself. She just knew that he didn't really care about her, he only didn't want to get caught.

The actual night of LaGuerta's death was a blur. After she cried herself out, Dexter peeled her arms away from LaGuerta's body and lifted her away from the crime scene that he had to finish staging. She watch him as he placed Estrada's gun into his hand and pulled the trigger to make the trajectory of the bullet fit the supposed crime. LaGuerta's body jumped as Extrada's bullet hit the body, just as it had when Deb pulled the trigger. She watched him clean the rest of the crime scene of their presence and they both returned to the beach.

At that time as they walked through the crowd, making their way back to Papa's, she was glad that she could hold onto his arm, glad to be close to the warmth of his body as he put his arm around her. As everyone counted down to midnight, Dexter turned to her and pulled her body to him in a tight embrace. He was a master at seeming to fit in, at not standing out in a crowd. They weren't part of this party. They didn't know these people and the thrumming crowd didn't know them. Touching thighs to chest, it was the most intimate hug they'd ever had. She hadn't hugged him in months. She clung to him like he was the only thing that made sense, and started crying again, hiding her face in the curve between his shoulder and neck.

Keeping them joined, Dexter pulled back to see her face and partially released her only to wipe away the tears with one hand. His thumb stroked her cheek, his fingers threading into her hair. Holding her face, he leaned in and surprised her by pressing his lips to hers, very gently. At the time, it seemed like the _least_ wrong thing that happened that night and she kissed him back. They were light kisses, his lips gentle on hers, capturing her upper lip, then her lower. And she kissed him back, sensing his next move upon her and responding in kind.

She pulled back just as he parted his lips to deepen the kiss. It was the first time that she considered that he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, but because he wanted to keep her under his thumb. He wanted to keep her happy so that he, himself, wouldn't get caught. Oddly, he looked confused when she pulled away from his kiss. Not his normal confused face, but a different, more personal kind of confused, as if he had surprised himself as well. Still, she believed that he would do anything to protect himself, and would try to keep her under his thumb by any means necessary, even by initiating action on her deepest desire.

He stepped back from her, but kept her hand in his and they continued down the beach to Papa's, as if nothing else had happened. He was so good at compartmentalizing the different parts of his life. She was in shock and people would chalk up her attitude to too much to drink. No need for that with him though. He could fool just about anyone. But not her, not anymore. He guided her down the beach, through the pulsing dance floors and along the lighted patios until they reached their party. They put in their appearances, gathered Harrison, and left together for her house.

That night he stayed with her after burning their clothes in a fire on the beach. It was just one of many fires on the beach that night; no one else suspected that they were destroying evidence. He stayed with her that night. He made no further attempt to kiss her or made any other advances. She was glad because she wasn't sure what she could have done to resist him. She'd wanted it for so long, but now, things had changed. She had changed. The attraction was still burning inside her but it felt even more shameful and wrong.

She took a few of the personal effects from her desk and her glass paperweight, and put them in her purse. After shutting down her computer, she picked up the patrolman and took it with her as she left her office. She walked to Dexter's lab and entered without knocking. He looked up with a shocked but pleased look on his face. She hadn't come to see him in a week. E-mails and texts were her latest preferred method of communication. She almost felt badly for what she was about to do.

"Dexter." She breathed out slowly through her mouth. "I'm leaving for the day. Fuck, I'm leaving for good. I'm quitting the force. I won't be back." He opened his mouth to protest and started to raise up from his stool. She raised her hands sharply, palms toward him to cut him off.

"I can't do this anymore. Dexter, I need a break. And I need a break from you. Please. Please don't call and don't come to see me, and stop fucking parking outside my house at night. I need to feel better about what happened and I can't do that if you're around me all the time. Can you do that?"

"No." He shook his head. "No… I can't do that. What the fuck do you mean?"

She looked out at the bullpen and the open doors beyond them. Her hair was falling in her face as she spoke and she didn't bother to push it back behind her ears. It felt better to hide her face behind her hair.

"This means that we're taking a break, Dexter. I… I didn't want it to be this way, but this feels right. I'll call you when I'm ready."

She turned around and reached for the doorknob. She heard the creak of his chair seconds before he captured her from behind, circling her in his arms, one over her shoulder, one around her waist. He pressed his cheek along hers. "Deb, don't do this, please…"

"Let me go, Dex." He pulled her tighter against him and turned to nuzzle his face behind her ear and into her hair. She heard him inhale, taking in her scent.

She exhaled loudly, centering herself, she pulled his arms off her, and stepped forward and away from him. Looking halfway over her shoulder, she didn't even look at him for her last words to him.

"Goodbye, Dexter."

She took the patrolman out of her purse and left it on Batista's desk as she walked through the bullpen for the last time. The elevator doors were beaconing her down and out.

* * *

I realized it now. She'd always reached out to me. She was the one who called me, she was the one came to my apartment, she was the one to seek me out. I became accustomed to it. Looking back, I always needed her but rarely initiated our interactions. I took her for granted. When she became Lieutenant, she relied on me even more than before. After Travis Marshall, I got used to hearing from her daily, even lived with her for a while. What I didn't realize was how much I came to rely on her.

After LaGuerta's death, she called less and less. Besides New Year's Eve, I hadn't been inside her house again. Harrison and I stayed with her that night. She could barely care for herself and after putting Harrison to bed in her guest room, we laid on her bed together. She was warm beside me and I realized this is what I'd wanted all along. I could still feel her lips against mine when she kissed me back. Her lips were soft and she yielded to me as I held her in my arms. I wanted so badly to touch her again and just be close with her, yet I didn't make another pass at her again that night. In retrospect, I wish I had. Maybe things would be different now.

Why couldn't I see what Hannah was? I was blinded by her beauty and her danger, and I let her manipulate me into believing that she was the one. She accepted me, but how long would that have lasted… Looking back, she was the easy way out from Deb's well-meaning and accurate assessment of me. Hannah accepted me; Deb challenged me.

After seeing her at the prison, I finally knew that she never thought it would work out. In the end, she would have turned me in or set me up in some way at the first sign on trouble. She said she always thought it would have been me that would have wound up in prison or dead. I guess we didn't know each other as well as we thought.

Even so, I think she loved me in her own way. And I loved that she loved me. But Hannah would never have done what Deb did. Deb killed who she was when she pulled the trigger. She did it for me.

Even though Deb told me not to call, I couldn't help it. She never returned my calls. Her house was dark more nights than not. I wondered where she was and what she was doing.

I found that for maybe the first time I felt a loneliness. I felt incomplete and hollow. I felt adrift like my life was the 'Slice of Life' and someone had taken an axe to the bow and stern lines holding the me to the dock and pushed me away from the moorings. I felt...

Sitting at my desk at home, I flipped through my old research files, looking for a victim. It had been a long time since I had a righteous stalk and kill and if anything made me return to 'normal', that was it. Each of these candidates were worthy of my table. Al O'Brien, a murdering gang enforcer, released on a miranda complication. Roger Milano, a serial husband, each of his wives committed "suicide". Sasha Rivera, a kidnapper and madam, whose 'employees' never returned to work because Sasha fed the true underbelly of sexual deviants.

None of these names felt right to my Dark Passenger. None of them felt like they had the possibility to bring order and peace back to my mind. But there was the one that got away. The dark orchid she left me was sitting on my desk, the last midnight petal hanging limply. I knew she was out there. We'd all been alerted the next day at the station that Hannah had escaped custody.

Find her and kill her. For this kill, I wouldn't miss not getting a blood slide. She would never be a trophy to me. Slicing her up into pieces, watching her flesh separate from her bones was not what I wanted either. A simple burial at sea for her, but I was looking forward to seeing the spark leave her eyes. She would know that she was bested and I would know that my family would be safe. Deb asked me to kill her once before and I denied her. Maybe if I followed through now, Deb would come back to me. It couldn't be that hard to find her.

* * *

He ran his fingertips along the smooth wood of the desk in front of him. It had been too long since a man sat in this office. Not that it was a sexist thing. He loved mujeres fuertes. Maria was a driven, smart woman. She rose to the top quickly and knew how to play the game. Well, until the end, she knew how to pick her battles. It hurt to hear him say it, but Dexter was right. She wouldn't let go of her obsession with him and it led to her murder. If Hector Estrada was still alive, he would have hunted him down and taken him out hombre a hombre for what he did to his wife. Ex-wife. He hadn't been married to her any longer, but he was still her protector and friend. Once Deb made LT, she made the office her own, but it was never personalized the way it was when Maria sat here.

One of the first things he had to do as LT and as an ex-husband, was to go through Maria's files at home and her files at work. Her house was going on the market very soon, and as executor of her estate, he needed to clear out the work she had taken home. He had her boxes at his home and her boxes from work, now sitting in his office. Even though she had let part of the job slide the last few weeks, most of the case information on everything but her obsession with Dexter was well in order. But the information on Dexter and her investigation of Doakes and the Bay Harbor Butcher case was scattered. He's owed it to her to go through the information, but most of it seemed crazy. He'd even briefly glanced at warrants for Debra's phone as well as Dexter's for a case. Absurd…loco!

For now, he looked through the box from her office. It was a random sampling of notes, files, and a DVD labeled 'Anderson Surveillance' and written in Maria's handwriting '15:37'. He would sort it out later. As far as he knew, all of these were old cases and the information simply needed to be filed.

In one of the boxes was another vase from her office, crimson like the one that he gave to Dexter. It reminded him of her. He put it behind him in a prominent position to remind everyone of her legacy and spirit.

And from another box from his own desk, he pulled out Deb's patrolman statue. He placed it on the front edge of his desk for the same reason.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

She needed to get another dealer.

While this one made house calls, he never got the hint that after she got him high from a part of what she just bought from him, she wanted him to go away. She hadn't slept with him yet, but he seemed to think that fucking her might be on the horizon. He felt her up once at the bar when they met and now he kept hanging around, seeming to hope for more. He was good-looking enough. And even though the coke tended to make her horny, she didn't want to fuck this guy. Besides, it was wearing off and she either wanted another hit or another beer to help her come down.

She opened her patio door to let him out into the half-light of early evening, but he pushed her against the door by her shoulders. He stepped in front of her and she forced herself to smile at him as he leaned into kiss her. Dammit, he was a good kisser as well. His hands slid down her torso, lingered over her breasts, and rested on her hips, pushing her against the glass, holding her there. She held him, her hands on his biceps, not pushing him away, but not encouraging him either. He broke away from her lips and started kissing her neck. It was nice. She leaned her head back and rested her head against the glass of the door. She could do this. She almost wanted to do this, but since she wasn't able to even touch herself without thoughts of Dexter's lips on her flooding her thoughts, she knew she probably wasn't ready to have sex. She opened her eyes, intending to gently push him away and noticed that her front door was slightly ajar. They had come in through her patio and she knew that she had locked the door earlier.

She looked around the room and saw that several things were out of place. A few magazines lay neatly stacked. Old beer bottles had been gathered and lined up in the kitchen. Her jacket was hanging up. What kind of burglar would break in and clean her house… Fuck.

"Fuck." she said and pushed him away. "I think someone's been in here." She stormed off towards the bedroom to make a full sweep of the area.

He started looking around. "Baby, you want me to stay? You gotta a ex?"

She rounded the corner from the bedroom and looked around for anything else missing or put back in order. She peered out the front door, then out towards the beach.

"No. I wouldn't call him an ex. None of my ex's would break into my house. Time to go now, Joe. I'll call you."

In the distance was a figure she knew all too well. He was standing on the beach halfway between her house and the shoreline. It was almost dark, but his silhouette was unmistakable. His arms were crossed.

"You sure? I wanna protect you, honey."

"Go. I got this. It's ok. Text me later." And she shoved him out the door. She watched Dexter watch him leave and then look back in her direction.

She knew she'd have to deal with him, but she didn't want to. She went back over to the tray on the coffee table and grabbed her straw. She snorted the last line and let the rush come over her skin and explode through her veins. Everything seemed so much clearer. She could deal with this. She could send him packing right now.

The sand seemed to offer no resistance to her feet as she moved toward him. He uncrossed his arms as she approached. She stopped a foot in front of him and crossed her arms. He was two days unshaven, more than his regular scruff, and his hair badly needed a comb.

"What the fuck? You break into my house, you nutsuck? What gives you the right to invade my privacy!"

He just looked at her for a moment before he spoke. "Deb, I wanted to see you. Who was that? I saw what was in your house. You have drugs in there. You could be arrested for possession, or for fucking public intoxication... Jesus, you're high right now aren't you. Even from here, I can see your eyes are dilated and you can't stay still." He looked her up and down. His eyes seemed to stop at her middle and she realized that when she crossed her arms, her shirt had ridden up, exposing her belly.

She dropped her arms and pulled her shirt down. "I'm fine Dexter. I told you to stay away."

"Are you?" He clearly didn't believe her. "Who was that? Are you fucking him?"

"I don't have to explain anything to you!"

"He had his hands on you!" He spit the words at her. "You were kissing him. Was that your dealer or your boyfriend? Or both?"

The waves on the shore were loud tonight and she had to raise her voice. "How long have you been out here? And who I fuck is none of your concern."

"The hell it isn't. I'm still your brother… Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it. Harrison misses you." As soon as he said it, her face gave away that it was the wrong thing to say. Not that it was untrue, but it would appear he was using his son as a tool and an excuse. "I miss you."

"Dexter. I need space. I know that you won't stop what you're doing. I even understand it. It might even be a necessary evil." She clenched her jaw. "But when I'm with you, I get drawn into your shit and I can't do it." She lowered her voice a little. "I fucking killed LaGuerta for you. I can't get over that. I did it. It was my goddamn choice. But I made it because of you."

"You did it because you love me. And I love you Deb."

"Right." She crossed her arms again, to keep her hands from shaking. "If you love me, you'll leave me alone, stop bothering me, and let me go."

His eyes flashed at her. "How am I supposed to do that? If I love you? I came here to let you know that I'm _in_ love you."

The surf pounded harder behind him. His words seemed to fall between them. She didn't know what to say to that. At another time, his admission would have been perfect, making her feel whole and fucking normal. Now, his confession hung heavily between them.

"Oh God… I'm sorry?" she stated and questioned at the same time. "I don't believe you? Yes, I don't believe you. You'd say anything to get me back in the way that you want me back. It won't work." She started to turn around. "You're just going to have to deal with that Dexter. This is what you created."

The sand pulled at her feet a little harder on her way back to her house.

* * *

His laptop whirred as the DVD started to load. The syncopated beat of Jamie's music bled through the walls of the house. But tonight, instead of urging her to turn the volume down, it helped him feel connected to life and to the warmth of family. He started the DVD. Scenes from a gas station started to appear on the screen. Some were in black and white and some color, depending on the level of technology of the surveillance camera. From the time stamp, it looked like this DVD belonged in the Marshall file. He let the DVD play as he turned to the mess in front of him.

In his home, Angel turned his study into an area where he could arrange all the files and papers that Maria had taken home. Her clothes and personal items had been given away or donated. Now all that was left was to sort through the case files that she had taken home with her in the weeks before she was murdered. He was doing this on his own time and in his own home so as not to bring more attention to the state that Maria had been in before her death. He was looking through whole and partial files dating back several years, cases that Doakes worked on, the murder of Rita Morgan and various other Trinity victims, the file on Mike Anderson's murder, and many files on the Doomsday Killer.

Maria had made her own notes, scattered across sheets of paper. She inserted them into the files and as Angel sought to return the files to their previous state, before she started her investigation, he would look at each one. Her handwriting was precise, yet had large loops on several letters. It fit her personality as a cop and as a woman. Professional, yet soft and stylish. He missed her.

On one of the larger notes she wrote, somewhat scribbled along the edges of a report for the Marshall case, was 'check other photos for plastic wrap'. Behind her notes were files from the burned church where they found Travis Marshall on the altar. These were the crime scene photos from the first forensic techs on the scene. Generally, before the detectives entered the crime scene, they would send in a tech to get photos of the crime scene before anyone could accidentally further contaminate the scene. This protocol was followed in the Marshall case. Dexter and Masuka were with the detectives and another tech had been sent in for photos. As he recalled, the tech came out looking quite green. He'd been with the department for a while, but hadn't shot a burning death before. The charred remains of Marshall really took it out of him. These were his photos.

They all looked as Batista remembered. The camera caught the morning light as it slanted across the room. The walls were blackened and several scorched beams had fallen from the ceiling of the abandoned church. Another picture captured the red gas container, now melted into an unrecognizable lump of plastic. The scorched remains of Travis were on the table with his sword still through his chest. He remember just how much Travis smelled, his skin seared from his muscles.

Each picture looked as he recalled until he looked at the picture of his sooty, skeletal feet. A small bit of what appeared to be plastic was stuck to his toe. He didn't remember this at all. He looked past the rest of the photos for the coroners report. The results showed that he died from the stab wound to the heart. The skin was noted to be burned. No plastic was recovered from the rest of the body. He looked back at the photo and then back at the report, then again to Maria's note.

He looked again through the photos, seeing no other evidence of another piece of plastic wrap. He thought for a moment that Maria wouldn't have written a note to herself, had she not been onto something. The last picture in his hands was the remains of gas container. He looked up at that time, about 15 minutes into the surveillance video to see a very similar gas can being filled at the gas station. Being filled by Debra Morgan.

* * *

Clopton, Alabama seemed like a long shot. She'd never mentioned any other relatives, and if she happened to show up in that drip of a town she would certainly be noticed. She couldn't buy a pack of gum at the only gas station in town without people knowing she was the girl who ran off with Wayne Randall. She probably wouldn't go there.

Her house and flower shop also seemed unlikely. Although, she'd been back at least once to get my present. The house was still on the market to be sold. The realty sign was slightly faded from its long time in the sun and a large PRICE REDUCED sticker was prominent across the top. The open house I attended was full of mostly lookie loos but there were a few potential buyers that took up the realtor's time and attention.

Since I have my own go-bag filled with money of different denominations and passports for Deb, Harrison, and me, I figured she might have had her own hiding space. I wasn't wrong. Located inside her bedroom closet was a small hidden door. Her clothes and personal items were gone from the house, but the staging crew, and all of Miami Metro, must have missed this. Covered in dust were an 8-pack of bottled water and a bag containing some clothes were still inside her hidey hole. Next to this was a dust-free area where a second bag must have sat. She must have been in a hurry.

If she hadn't managed to flee the country, the only other place that I knew she might have been was in Hialeah with Arlene Shram. In many ways, her relationship with Arlene was the longest she was able to maintain with anyone. Arlene was on file with Miami Metro and with a quick search I found her current residence.

Watching her rental house from a safe distance, Arlene took a lot of walks, always with her a hat and sunglasses, covering her fair skin. Sometimes she took her kids with her to catch the bus, sometimes she walked alone to the store. After a few days of shadowing her movements, I almost gave up, until I saw her leave the house twice within an hour.

Looking closer, I knew the sway of the woman's hips. I hadn't been looking for a red-head, but the way this woman moved, I knew her. I knew the movement of her body and the way she held herself as she walked down the street. She must have dyed her hair the same color as Arlene's and she was hiding out in Arlene's house. It angered me that I had been so blind as to not think Hannah wouldn't have altered her appearance. She wasn't stupid after all. Ruthless, treacherous, and deadly, but not stupid.

I felt a surge of pride and satisfaction that I had located her while Miami Metro could not. I expected my Dark Passenger to also react with a wave of excitement. It was there, but muted. Now that she was in my sights, the sense of fullness and swelling enthusiasm wasn't what it used to be. Still, I found her and I would kill her for Deb.

Once I found out which 'Arlene' I should be watching, I tailed her. Every third day, she would take the Flamingo route to the Walker Library on 29th and use the computers to scan the news for any mentions of her and check on bus and airfares. She would then sit in the park for an hour surrounded by thickleaf wild petunias, lilies, and irises. Not a very active social life for her, but she was successfully lying low.

To make sure I had enough time, I took the day off work for Hannah's last day on earth. I caught the bus two stops before she picked it up. It was a busy day, and hot. I sat near the back in between two perspiring people and waited for her to get on.

Right on cue, she entered the bus with several other people. It was crowded and she had to stand, grabbing an overhead handrail. A very pregnant woman walked to the back of the bus and I gave up my seat to her. My needle concealed in my hand, I moved forward and stood almost directly behind Hannah. She was so close I could see the beads of sweat on her brow and neck.

Seeing her up close, my hands started shaking. Normally being so close to my prey was exhilarating, but this felt more like panic. The plan was solid. This was the wrong reaction. I'd planned to hit her with a half-dose of M99 when the bus swayed along its route. It would look like my friend was having heat related exhaustion and we would get off at the library where my car was waiting. A short drive back to Miami and my boat, and we'd be set for a ride out to sea.

I backed away from Hannah hearing Deb's voice so clearly in my head when she said she understood that I was a 'necessary evil'. Was this what I was supposed to be doing? How would killing her bring Deb back to me? Had Hannah not been caught once by Deb and me and not given me up for what I was? Once in custody again, certainly they wouldn't let her get away so easily as she had the first time. Was the justice system the best choice for Hannah?

I pulled the 'Stop' cord and exited the bus on the last stop before the library. I stumbled to the nearest bench and sat with my head in my hands, trying to slow my breathing. This wasn't how today was supposed to be, yet getting away from Hannah and away from the obligation to kill her felt right.

My mind drifted back to Deb, yelling at me on the beach. Her beautiful eyes burning into me. The flash of bare skin of her lower abdomen just above her belt buckle when she crossed her arms in defiance. Her hair catching on her lip as she fired back at me that she was sorry that I was in love with her.

I walked the last few blocks back to the library's parking lot. Passing a public phone, I did what I'd done only a few other times.

I slipped a latex glove over my hand and grabbed the receiver. Punching the buttons with my knuckles of my other hand, I dialed 911 and let them know, in my best rural Florida accent, that Wayne Randall's girlfriend just sat next to me on the bus and then went into the Walker library. Her hair was dyed red, but I'd read the books on this killer and I just knew it was her.


End file.
